


Move Along

by TheMipstaz



Series: We Are Still Breathing [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Pack, Self-Harm, Stilinski Family Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, basically stiles and derek help each other out when shit gets hard, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles teaches Derek to keep fighting, Derek teaches Stiles to how not to forget, and they both take care of each other.<br/>Or, the one inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-d07ZUqvjz4">"Move Along"</a> by the All American Rejects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Along

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say that Stiles was a teenager when his mom died because I'm not sure if a little 5 or 6 year old kid would have suicidal thoughts. I don't know, maybe they do.  
> Hey, come hang out with me at iamtheredking.

 “Derek,” Stiles pleaded. “Derek, what’s wrong? Please just tell me.”

“I can’t fucking take it,” Derek snarled, slamming his fist into the loft’s wall. The stone cracked and trembled, harsh fault lines spiderwebbing out into delicate fractures as dust clouded the air. He panted harshly through his nose, placing his other hand flat against the now uneven surface. Resting his forehead on the wall, Derek’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m tired of messing up.”

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder. “I’m tired of you thinking all you do is fail,” Stiles replied evenly, his eyes soft and understanding.

“I wouldn’t exactly give myself the Alpha of the Year Award, Stiles,” Derek muttered, refusing to move or open his eyes. Self-loathing and shame roiled just beneath his tight skin, hot and acidic.

“Yeah, okay,” conceded Stiles. “But you’re not Peter either.”

Derek bit his lip, feeling as though the air had been punched out of him. He clenched his hands, claws itching to come out.

“You know that, right?” Stiles pressed. “You might not be the best at it, but you’re trying. You’re–”

“I’m _failing_!” Derek snarled, smashing his fist into the wall once more. The poor wall shook more violently than ever under duress. “I’m supposed to be a Hale. I’m supposed to be teaching you how to take care of yourselves and how we aren’t monsters, but so for all I’ve managed to do is add to the body count.”

Stiles figured that someone with a single ounce of self-preservation would probably be running in the opposite direction of an angry alpha werewolf. But he looked at the hand still clamped firmly over Derek’s shoulder and figured self-preservation was overrated anyway.

Derek’s voice broke as he whispered despairingly, “I’m supposed to be making my mom proud.”

Stiles licked his suddenly dry lips at that. He knew firsthand how much it hurt to lose a parent, but he wasn’t sure if it was his place to tell Derek that he _was_ making his mom proud every single day. “Look,” Stiles began uncertainly, “I didn’t know your mom.”

 _And I’m never going to_ , he thought sadly.

“But I know what it’s like to feel like you’re failing someone who isn’t there anymore. I know how terrifying it is to question every choice you make, to wonder if they would be disappointed in the person you turned out to be. I ask myself that every damn day.” Stiles’ voice hardened. “But I don’t let it weigh me down. Yes I want Mom to love the person I’ve become, to love the people I’ve surrounded myself with. I want it so fucking bad it hurts. But even if she didn’t, it wouldn’t change how I feel about you and about the pack.”

Derek let out a shuddering breath, and tears began leaking from beneath his closed eyelids.

“Look at me,” Stiles murmured, tugging at Derek’s arm.

Derek obliged, turning to face Stiles with his arms hanging heavily at his side.

Stiles cupped Derek’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the melancholy dampness and smearing the powdered plaster and dust coating his skin. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing the same air for a moment, before leaning forward so the tips of their noses touched briefly.

“Open your eyes.” Stiles pulled back to gaze at Derek’s changeling green gaze. His pupils danced with a myriad of color, flecks of gold mingling with forest green and speckled blue. “You are not a failure.” A wry smile twisted at Stiles’ mouth. “We’re still here, aren’t we? So you must’ve done something right.

“Besides, you know what we do when it feels like we’re walking through Hell?” Stiles reached down with one hand and laced their fingers together. “We. Keep. Going.” Derek’s hands were shaking and freezing cold, the stone having long ago leached away their warmth. But Stiles didn’t mind. He didn’t even care about the dried blood smeared across the once-split skin. All that mattered was that Derek’s hands stopped trembling.

* * *

“Stiles!”

Stiles blinked heavily, his eyes bleary and his mind groggy. His heartbeat was still pounding when Derek’s face swam into view, eyebrows scrunched in concern and heavy lines etched into his skin.

“Please don’t leave me,” Stiles rasped, his throat scratchy like sandpaper. It hurt like a bitch, but the remaining wisps of his nightmare spurred him onward. “I love you, please don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” Derek’s warm hands ensconced Stiles’ icy ones, squeezing them reassuringly. “I won’t.”

“That’s what she said,” Stiles whimpered back. “That’s what she said before she died.” His fingers clutched Derek’s in a grip that would’ve hurt considerably if he wasn’t a werewolf. “I can’t lose you too.”

Derek was at a loss of what to say, worried about triggering more of Stiles’ memories of his mother but also wanting to soothe Stiles’ fears. Carefully, he hauled Stiles’ quivering body into his arms, tucking his’ head under his chin and slipping his hand under Stiles’ shirt to rub comforting circles into his back. Stiles’ roaring pulse was still nervous and on edge, but Derek could tell it was slowing down. He counted that as a win.

“I wanted to die when she left.” Stiles’ voice was so soft Derek doubted he would’ve heard it if he hadn’t been a werewolf. “She was gone and Dad was drinking himself to death, and I wanted to kill myself.”

Derek heart ached at this confession, his own chest clenching at the thought of his life without Stiles. It only made him hold Stiles tighter, whispering, “I’m glad you didn’t.” against Stiles’ skin.

He wondered if he should’ve been worried that Stiles didn't vocalize an agreement.  

They sat there for a while in silence except for the occasional sniffle from Stiles and an engendered calming platitude from Derek, who had leaned to nuzzle Stiles’ neck. It wouldn’t have the exact same effect as it would on a werewolf, but Stiles seemed to enjoy the affection all the same. It probably had something to do with him running with wolves for so long. 

Once Derek had deemed Stiles mostly back to normal, he murmured, “I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

Stiles said nothing for a moment before breathing out, “I know.”

Satisfied, Derek waited for Stiles to make the next move, knowing better than to push his strained limits. He didn’t need to wait long.

“Talk to me,” Stiles said in a small voice, his face still hidden against Derek’s chest.

“About?”

“Anything.”

Derek thought about it for a moment, unsure of what he could speak of that Stiles hadn’t already heard. After all, they’d been together for years now; there were very few things Stiles didn't know about him. Finally settling on a subject, Derek steeled himself before continuing. “I can’t remember her face.”

Stiles made an inquisitive noise.

“Most of them are starting to fade, especially the little ones. My younger cousins, my niece and my nephews, my siblings.” He paused for a moment, his throat tightening. “My mom. Even Laura’s is starting to get fuzzy. They’re becoming these generic ideas in my head instead of unique, individual beings.” Derek swallowed past the lump in his throat at the disclosure. It had been gradual and hard to admit to himself, but it was true. “There aren’t any pictures left that don’t have burns and charred bodies. And I’m starting to forget what they look like.”

Derek had to take a deep breath to calm himself, holding Stiles tightly against himself.

“I can’t remember what her laugh sounded like.” Derek quieted at Stiles’ voice, silently encouraging him. “Even in my dream, I’m not sure if I heard it. And if I did, I don’t know if it was her actual laugh or something my consciousness made up. I feel like I’m losing what little I have left of her and there’s nothing I can do.”

Derek said nothing, pressing his lips to Stiles head as they lay there together. Then he blinked suddenly, straightening up. “Write.”

“Huh?” Stiles tilted his face up to look at him confusedly.

“Write it down,” Derek repeated, excitement bubbling up in him. “We’re forgetting, so why don’t we write everything that we remember about them? Your mom, my family, there’s no reason we should lose them.” Derek was already scrambling up, opening the bedroom door to get a legal pad and a pen. He was back before Stiles had even made to move out of bed. He thrust them at Stiles before settling beside him once more. “Tell me about your mom,” he prompted.

And that was how Stiles and Derek wound up passed out in a sprawling, messy heap on top of their sheets at five in the morning. They didn’t get up until about three in the afternoon, but when they did, they were both grinning.

Five legal pads and three pens later, Stiles was putting the finishing touches on his 20 Things To Remember About Mom. The list had ended up being much longer than the initial twenty after Scott, Melissa, and his dad had added to it, but Stiles didn't mind. Flipping through it, he found himself smiling fondly at Scott’s sloppy scrawl that read, _Your mom made the best pancakes and no one will ever convince me otherwise_ , and his dad’s addendum of, _Claudia reminds me so much of you_.

Feeling his eyes dampen, Stiles rubbed away the trickle with the heel of his hand. A watery smile curled at his lips. Two familiar arms wrapped draped themselves over his shoulders as Derek’s chin rested on his head.

“Hi.” Stiles’ voice was somewhat stuffy.

“Hey.” Derek sat beside him, crossing his legs on the bed. He glanced at Stiles wet eyes and the fingers tightly gripping the lined paper. His eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“I’m fine,” Stiles smiled weakly, the tears still rolling down his cheeks belying his words, “honestly. It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard my dad talk about Mom so much.”

Derek nodded, but twined their fingers anyways. They were warm, alive and reassuring. And when Stiles leaned forward to brush their lips together, Derek couldn’t help but squeeze them.

* * *

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. His butt was getting numb from sitting so long on the hard ground, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. The quiet of the cemetery was soothing, tranquil and serene. The small, hand-bound book that was the compilation of all the quirks of a woman named Claudia Stillinski lay propped against the headstone staring at them.

“For what?” Derek’s shoulder was a warm presence against his, their sides and knees brushing where they were sitting cross-legged together. His arm was around Stiles’ waist, a familiar weight that had Stiles smiling.

“For taking care of me.” Stiles’ eyes traced over the long since memorized engraving on the stone. The words were worn, no longer sharp and pristine against the rock. Weather and time had taken their toll, but it didn’t hurt like it used to. Looking at the book he and Derek had spent countless hours putting together, Stiles knew why.

“We take care of each other. That’s how it works.” Derek couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman Claudia Stillinski had been. Based on the people she left behind—Stiles, the sheriff, even Scott—Derek decided she must have been a wonderful person.

“Thank you anyways,” Stiles murmured.

“You taught me how to fight through Hell,” Derek replied. “I should be thanking you.”

“But when I’m tired of fighting, you’re the one who tells me to keep going.” Stiles closed his eyes.

“Then I guess we’re pretty lucky we’ve got each other.” Derek’s hand was warm in his own as he pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple.

“The luckiest,” Stiles agreed quietly.

 


End file.
